


Bro Code

by xTammyVx



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Dirty Talk, Frottage, Grinding, Implied Masturbation, Innocent Niall, Jealous Zayn, M/M, Mutual Pining, Scheming Louis
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-17
Updated: 2014-08-17
Packaged: 2018-02-10 16:24:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,483
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2031786
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xTammyVx/pseuds/xTammyVx
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Louis' either dumb enough or smart enough, but definitely <i>crazy</i> enough to think that even his bad ideas are good ones," Zayn snickers.</p><p>"I think this is one of his best," Niall admits, grin soft.</p><hr/><p>Zayn walks in on Louis dirty-talking Niall, again and again.</p><p>(But it's all part of Louis' master plan.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bro Code

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to my betas, [freakforhoran](http://freakforhoran.tumblr.com/), [nekedniall](http://nekedniall.tumblr.com/), and [ghstys](http://ghstys.tumblr.com/)!
> 
> Based on [this post](http://camonialle.tumblr.com/post/94857171739/struckbyniall-zayns-just-a-little-possessive/).

Zayn is up one beer on Harry when Liam runs out of crisps, and Harry water, and there’s still leftover curry in the fridge, right? Probably. There’s always leftover curry; it’s the only thing that keeps Zayn from losing his fucking mind when he’s away from his parents and his sisters. He and Waliyha still argue, but the grumbly “ _I love you, you dick_ ,” at the ends of their phone calls soften the brother-sister huffs just a little, just enough.

Determined to get to the bowl before anyone else (particularly Niall) Zayn has a shaky go at standing, but his head is full of booze and the “secret ingredient” Harry put in the brownies. He flops back onto the sofa.

Attempt 2 is more successful, because, like, getting to your feet in the middle of a half-arsed drinking contest against the light-weight of the band is totally a win. If Liam has to give him a hand up, then that’s just teamwork. Liam is a great friend.

“You’re a sick bro, Li _ah_ m,” Zayn grins. Liam does his little _aw shucks_ smile, all wine-softened eyes and boyish scruff around his jaw.

“Am _I_ sick?” Harry chimes in.

Zayn laughs; Harry’s voice is slightly too posh to pull off proper slang, but he tries, bless him, so Zayn cups Harry’s peachy face in his hands, voice dipping softly, and says, “The _sickest_.”

“Cool,” Harry beams.

“ _So_ cool,” Zayn says, shaking his head as he makes his (wobbly) way to the kitchen.

Sometimes, Zayn is surprised by how little everything in his life is actually affecting him, and his friendships, and these boys that mean so much to him. Not that One Direction doesn’t change things—it really, really does—but as he watches the outside world creep by outside the window yet glances back and still sees Harry and Liam, Liam listening patiently as Harry mushes up his sentences, he feels at loss for words to describe the feeling. A little bit drunk and a little bit high, that’s how he finds Niall and— and _Louis_.

At first, his poor, drunken mind can’t quite catch up with his eyes. Louis is facing away from Zayn. He’s behind Niall. Niall is also facing away. Suddenly Zayn is drowning in details like he’s fallen into quicksand – Louis is grinding against Niall’s arse, face in Niall’s neck and making loud kissy noises that don’t sound like they’re just for a laugh.

Niall moans, his head falling away from Louis, arms sagging where they’re keeping him from melting against the kitchen counter. Zayn doesn’t understand. They’re both still wearing clothes – Louis in his chinos and tee shirt, Niall with a snapback, tank top, and denim shorts. Louis is rubbing off on Niall. _On Niall_. Niall is enjoying it. Louis is whispering in Niall’s ear and for all the fucking singing and pitch changes Zayn has to do day after day after day he can’t hear a word.

He needs another drink.

“ _Hey_ ,” Harry pouts when he spots Zayn again. “You didn’t get my water.”

“Shit, sorry,” Zayn frowns. He’s still trying to make sense of what he just saw and the ugly colour staining his insides and Niall’s needy noises and pants. The last time he threw up out of drunkenness was when he was fifteen. Zayn thinks that that’s about to be updated.

This time, he makes a show of leaning against the walls, tripping over a shirt left on the floor, using a tight falsetto to sing _What Makes You Beautiful_. There’s only Louis in the kitchen.

“Where’s Niall?” Zayn asks. Oops. There goes his subtlety.

Louis’ eyes narrow, and one cocky brow arches up like he hadn’t just been dry humping the boy in question. “He’s in bed.”

“Oh. Early night,” Zayn mumbles, filling up a glass with the _Hooters_ logo on it, and grabbing a _Lays_ packet from the cupboard.

“Something like that,” Louis replies.

Zayn makes a valiant effort to not think about Louis’ cock against Niall’s arse against the fucking _kitchen counter_ that they make _food_ on, for fuck’s sake. All he’d wanted was a curry. Now he probably wouldn’t be able to stomach it.

With his head still five planets away, Zayn closes the kitchen door behind him, walking through the bunks so quickly he nearly doesn’t catch the _uh, uh_ sounds entwined with the classic slaps of a lad getting off; Niall’s curtain is closed.

He’s wanking to Louis.

Zayn could cry.

Instead, he pushes his face into Liam’s lap and watches the outside world whoosh past the window. Liam once got hard when Zayn was lying on him. Sometimes, Zayn brings it up just to see Liam go the pinkest of pinks and laugh all the same because it’s, like, it’s fucking funny and shit, but _Louis_ and _Niall_ and _LouisandNiall_ and _LouisonNiall_ and

Zayn drags himself to his bunk five beers up on Harry, miserable and upset in the sulky way that alcohol allows.

* : ・ﾟ❧ ﾟ・: *

* * *

* : ・ﾟ❧ ﾟ・: *

Zayn doesn’t ask Louis about it – he doesn’t want to know. What happened in the kitchen was enough of a shitty slap to the heart without Zayn finding out that it’s a regular occurrence, something that’s been going on for days weeks _months_.

But then it doesn’t happen again for a while. It could’ve been a one-off? An experiment? A night where Louis missed Eleanor too much, needed someone, and Niall was just _there_.

Niall.

Zayn doesn’t know how to outline who Niall is to him. He puts a pen on paper and writes fragments of songs that end up meaning nothing because when people ask who they’re about, he can only shrug and say, “A girl.”

But what he feels for Niall isn’t like what he’s felt for girls. He’s got braces and snapbacks and a booming, _hahaha_ laugh. He swears and drinks and burps. He’s funny and passionate and affectionate, and all of it makes Zayn feel crazy, crazy like his stomach is warm goo and his head is empty.

And Zayn doesn’t know what to do with that.

Apparently, Louis does, and he proves as much in his dressing room after a concert. Zayn just wanted to pop his head in, let them know that there’s a Fifa tournament planned for Bus 1, and the others are good for it. It was a great show, make it a great night, a shot for every goal you score, Harry’s just grabbing the limes—

Louis has Niall pressed against the wall, nipping and playing with his earlobe, whispering. Since he’s not drunk, Zayn can’t put the concrete in his blood down to booze – he can only explain it as frozen in surprise, frozen in horror, frozen with his lips parted and his breath stilling. Frozen, watching.

Niall makes a lovely noise—a low, boyish groan as he works himself off against Louis’ thigh—and tucks closer into Louis’ neck, hiding. The last time, Zayn told himself that it was all Louis. Niall isn’t open to that no-homo bullshite, and will go along with a bodyshot or a snog or a grind just because he’s so casual and carefree. This is different. His hips are jerking unevenly like he’s gonna come. He’s breathing hard. Louis has just spotted Zayn, yet makes no move to stop, just leans down and murmurs something that must be really hot for how Niall’s rhythm falters.

“Louis,” Niall chokes out, hands going tight in the back of Louis’ jumper.

Staring at Zayn, Louis says, “Yeah, love,” loud enough for Zayn to hear.

Zayn peels himself off the doorframe, telling Harry and Liam in a text that he’s crashed too hard to play. Harry sends back three sad faces, Liam four, and Zayn wedges himself up against his bunk wall on Bus 2 like the cold can make his crying a bit quieter. God. This is stupid. He’s not fourteen and being told by his girlfriend that he’s a bad kisser so she’s breaking up with him. He’s nineteen and confused. Maybe that’s worse. Maybe not knowing is worse than sewing details into a situation he already knows will hurt him.

“Mr. Bradford Bad Boy, Harry’s asking after you.”

Wiping a hand over his face to smear the sticky trails leading down to the pillow, Zayn clears his throat and swallows. When Louis taps a soft fist against the curtain, Zayn tries not to remember that it’s the same hand that squeezed Niall’s soft waist to steady him, then slid down his thigh to wind Zayn up. Bastard.

“Hey, Zayn,” Louis says. “I hear there’s a big game on Bus 1.”

“Yeah, tired, like, some other time,” Zayn shrugs.

For a second, there’s quiet. Then Louis crawls into Zayn’s bunk. He’s graceful and sleek, thighs splitting over Zayn’s hips, one hand creeping into Zayn’s hair. Zayn doesn’t like anyone touching his hair but for now he allows it – playing Louis’ game only makes him stronger, so if Zayn simply doesn’t react, maybe he can win.

_Maybe maybe maybe—_

“Liam says you were all excited for tonight,” Louis whispers, getting up in Zayn’s space. “What changed, Zaynie baby? You’re not put off because of me and Niall, are you?”

 _Me and Niall. Louis and Niall. LouisandNiall_ , Zayn thinks bitterly.

“Can’t help myself, you know? He makes these really sweet sounds. You probably heard them, actually.” Louis laughs, soft and guarded. “He’s a randy thing, isn’t he? Always ten seconds off nutting in his shorts. All he needs is a bit of…” Louis pauses as he tilts his bum back and forth on Zayn’s crotch. “…touching in the right places. He’s not picky.”

“I’m gonna punch you,” Zayn spits out.

“Feisty,” Louis breathes without missing a beat. He’s still grinding on Zayn’s dick, catching its interest in the long, slow strokes of his hips. “You’re very cute.” With a grin that opens to accommodate his slight panting, Louis drops his head and presses down heavier while Zayn gets harder.

He smirks when Zayn pushes up slightly.

“You love him, don’t you?”

Zayn reaches down and grabs the meaty parts of Louis’ thighs, forcing him to a sudden stop. “Fuck. Off. You’re not funny.”

With a lick of his lips and some feigned exasperation, Louis says, “Fine,” and slides out of the bunk. “Just so you know,” he adds, still holding the curtain open, “green isn’t a good colour on you, Zayn.”

The need to break something is near-overwhelming.

“What about Eleanor, you selfish fuck?” Zayn calls.

Louis steps back, face unforgivably smug. “She knows. She says it’s a great idea. She’s very pleased with me.”

Zayn closes the curtain so quickly it nearly gets caught.

* : ・ﾟ❧ ﾟ・: *

* * *

* : ・ﾟ❧ ﾟ・: *

When Zayn next strolls into a room where someone’s doing something they shouldn’t be, it’s Harry. And Zayn’s notebook. Harry reading Zayn’s notebook, face a furrow of concern and thoughtfulness.

“Oi,” Zayn says.

“Yeah?” Harry replies, not looking up.

“Fuck’s sake, Harry,” Zayn growls, yanking the book away.

“What? You read _my_ songs.” Harry has his feet up on the opposite chair, wearing a bandana and a pair of Calvin Klein’s, nothing else.

“Because you _let_ me, like, I don’t just go rifling through your shit,” Zayn points out, knuckles tight where he’s holding his book. _His_ book. His private book.

“I don’t think management would let us release that kind of music. It’s very angry and sad. Maybe if you changed some of the lyrics around—”

“This isn’t for a fucking boy band, Harry,” Zayn snaps. “This is _mine_. My stuff. My thoughts.”

Harry gets this strange look, like he’s doing one of Paul’s crosswords and not massively invading the little privacy Zayn has in this world. (Today _The Morning Show_ asked what kind of toothpaste he uses. Who the fuck cares?)

“‘ _He’s riding the Who Gives A Flying Fuck Express, while you’re riding his dick like a merry-go-round,_ ’” Harry quotes. “Where’s that coming from?”

“They’re not even fuckin’ lyrics. They’re just things I come up with.” And those are some of the tamer ones, he nearly adds, but he thinks Harry knows that.

“Yes, but they must _come_ from somewhere. Are you cross with someone? Did something happen?”

Zayn stares Harry down, and offers a tone that carries enough poison to hopefully ward him off. “No.”

“No secrets,” Harry reminds him.

“Fuck off,” Zayn groans, sulking away.

He has to learn to keep this hidden better.

* : ・ﾟ❧ ﾟ・: *

* * *

* : ・ﾟ❧ ﾟ・: *

Walking in on Louis and Niall soon becomes a new career path for Zayn. Kitchens. Bathrooms. Living rooms. Sofas. Louis will latch onto Niall basically anywhere, voice low so all that reaches Zayn is the deep hum of it, but no words.

And sometimes, Louis sees him, and sometimes, he doesn’t.

Niall never sees him. He’s always got his eyes closed or his face pressed against Louis’ chest Louis’ shoulder Louis’ arm, listening. He’s not always grinding on Louis, but every time Zayn sees them like that, Niall always has a stiffy. He’s always turned on.

There’s never actually any hand-on-dick contact – they never shed clothes. Zayn can’t figure out why, if it’s a _thing_ , a _sex_ thing, a _LouisandNiall_ _sex thing_. The thought makes him sick.

And sad.

And angry.

And of fucking _course_ it affects them onstage and in interviews, serving Zayn’s Quiet and Mysterious image pretty well, because he knows that if he opens his mouth any more than necessary, he’ll rip into Louis like a wolf on a lamb. Only Louis isn’t a lamb. Louis is a snake. A python.

Zayn wonders how everything turned around so sharply that he considers his best friend a sneaky slag.

Harry sometimes looks at him funny.

But there’s a club one night, and Zayn is doing a bodyshot off Harry, sucking the lime out from between his lips with a sly grin that make the women around them cheer. It feels good to get his game face on. Harry’s laughing, Zayn’s unbuttoning his top and lying in his place, Liam setting out the ingredients on his abs with his big, crescent-eyes smile. Harry leans over Zayn, slurps the tequila out of his belly button, and licks off the salt. When he gets to Zayn’s mouth, he bites his lip and goes in fast – he takes the lime wedge and spits it onto the floor, snogging Zayn hard instead. Zayn kisses back just as messily.

Pretending to have gotten woozy and caught offguard, Zayn lets his eyes flutter open, but he and Harry lose their cool quickly, buckling nearly in half with their giggles.

“Is it Liam’s turn? I feel like Liam should have a go,” Harry yells. “Liam!”

“Alright.” Liam looks giddy and bouncy and eager. Harry all but pushes Zayn off the bench in his hurry to have Liam organise his chest and stomach.

“You do it like a religious ritual, bro,” Harry cracks up, stomach jiggling with laughter.

“Oi,” Liam frowns playfully as tequila dribbles out of Harry’s bellybutton. “Just poured that.”

“Oh, no. We’ll run out at this rate!” Harry says, rolling his eyes, gesturing to the bottles and bottles on the table, some half-full, some cheap, some more expensive than Zayn thinks appropriate to be licked off an eighteen-year-old’s tummy.

“Hush up,” Liam tuts, holding Harry’s hips still.

Caught up in a honking fit of laughter at Harry’s groan the second Liam’s tongue touches his skin, Zayn nearly misses Louis. He’s leaning in and shouting above the music, “Niall and I are going back to the hotel. See you tomorrow, lads!”

Niall is huddled behind Louis, gnawing his bottom lip, trousers low and top buttoned wrong. He sees Zayn hawkeyeing him and smiles but looks away nervously.

_To the hotel._

“Sick, I’ll come, too,” Zayn calls. Harry kisses Liam and then jams the lime into his mouth.

“No, no, you can carry on with your fratboy fantasies,” Louis insists over the cheer.

Zayn glares at him. There’s a hard look in Louis’ eye, not like he wants to push Zayn away, but like a goading gleam – a dare to step closer.

“Nah, mate. I’m knackered,” Zayn says.

“Suit yourself,” Louis shrugs.

“I’ll just grab my things,” Zayn announces.

He takes the spot between Niall and Louis in the car, which earns him two looks – smug and surprised. Niall gets over it quickly, laughing in the big, croaky way he does when he’s pissed, leaning into Zayn and grinning. When Louis laughs, it’s like there’s an inside joke that Zayn’s been denied access to.

Zayn selfishly decides to do everything in his power to cockblock Louis. It’s insatiable, that need to keep Louis _away_ , the hideous jealousy festering at his insides. Niall’s hair flicks out from under his snapback, and whenever Louis manages to casually nip around Zayn, he strokes and tugs them lightly while Niall giggles, and Zayn _fumes_.

“My room?” Louis says (to Niall).

“I have the DVDs,” Zayn interjects, epitome of cool. He tips his chin smugly at Louis when Niall’s eyes go wide and happy.

“Did you get _Mamma Mia_ , Zayn?” he asks. Zayn nods. “Ha! Sick!” Niall shoves past Zayn before remembering that Zayn has the key, which makes his grin skew sheepishly at the corners, and it’s fucking adorable.

Zayn lets them in, gets them seated (with him in the middle again), and has Louis set up _Mamma Mia_ (the sing-along version, obviously). With the heat of the night sitting on his skin, Niall cuddles in closely to Zayn, his arm slipping over Zayn’s tummy, fingers hinting at the bare skin beneath the waist of his singlet.

“ _Take it easy_ ,” Niall sings.

“ _Take it easy_ ,” Zayn echoes, higher and quieter. He’ll let Niall have the spotlight for this one. Whatever. Not a huge loss.

“ _Better slow down, boy_.” Niall’s voice shudders as he laughs midway through.

Louis comes in as a rescue. “ _Take it nice and slow_.”

“ _Does your mother know?_ ” Zayn finishes, hoisting himself up.

“Oi, ’s not over!” Niall protests.

“I’m getting water,” Zayn tells him. “Like, d’you want anything?”

Niall shakes his head, following up his, “No thanks!” with “ _I could dance with ya, honey, if ya think it’s funny – does your mother know that you’re out?_ ” so Zayn leaves them to it.

His first mistake is giving them alone time.

His second is not just getting a glass of water; he also goes for a wee, and even fixes up his hair, and wonders when Lou last plucked his eyebrows. Forever, if the thick, black hairs above the bridge of his nose are anything to go by. Jesus.

His third is being surprised when he returns and the movie’s paused, and Louis’ necking Niall, one hand squeezing and massaging Niall’s inner thigh. Niall’s eyes are closed but his mouth isn’t.

“Fuckin’ serious, Louis?” Niall whispers.

“Yeah, Louis. Are you fucking serious?” Zayn snorts venomously.

Niall jerks hard, while Louis takes his time detaching his lips from Niall’s throat, licks them once, and all with a face that seems to accuse _Zayn_ of being the rude one.

“We were just talking about you,” Louis says, all hitched eyebrows and _come hither_ voice.

“I’ll bet,” Zayn mutters.

“We talk about you a lot, don’t we, Niall?” Louis carries on, dragging his fingers through Niall’s shaggy hair, snapback abandoned on the sofa.

“Louis,” Niall groans, and it catches Zayn offguard because it, like – it sounds like he’s pleading. Is he trying to protect Zayn? Does he _know_ about Zayn’s crush?

Louis ducks his head and presses words into Niall’s ear, hand sliding deeper between his thighs.

“Christ, Louis.” Niall swallows. Zayn feels both invisible and under a microscope.

“Zayn caught us a few times, Niall. He caught you trying to rut off on my hip, on the sofa, and even once on the sink. How desperate do you think you looked?” Louis either doesn’t notice or doesn’t give a shit that Niall is locking up and curling his hands into nervous fists, but Zayn does. Again, his shoes feel too heavy to lift from the floor, and he’s stuck watching as Louis makes a mess of his heart. “You turn a wonderful shade of red when you’re turned on, and it’s so much fucking hotter when you’re gasping into my shoulder because I won’t let you come on me.” Finally, Louis snatches his eyes off the ruddy tint smudging Niall’s cheeks, locking on Zayn. “C’mere.”

Even though he can’t be sure that he won’t smack Louis for this, Zayn does. Louis has that affect on people. The demand is in his eyes and his body and his voice, and it’s so difficult to say _No, Louis. Fuck off, Louis. I— I love him, Louis. Why are you doing this, Louis?_

“Wanna tell you what we talk about,” Louis says.

“Me,” Zayn says, surprising himself.

Louis’ mouth turns into a playful smirk. “Yeah, you.” Zayn tracks the hand that puts Niall’s snapback on for him—backwards—and sneaks under Niall’s shirt, right up around where his nipples are, but Louis keeps talking like it’s nothing, like Niall doesn’t gasp softly. “We started out pretty vanilla, since Niall’s so bloody easy to please. I would whisper things about your soft lips, when they stretch into that charming smile you save for the birds, or if they parted around little noises when you’re fucking them later. Niall here would beg me to keep going.”

The new information would’ve knocked Zayn off his feet if he hadn’t been narrowed in on the blush flushing down Niall’s neck to his top, or the timid in-outs of his stomach as he breathes too quickly.

“And I still talk about that, don’t I? You’d never get bored of Zayn’s lips,” Louis murmurs. “Never in a million years.

“I upped my game after a few goes at getting him off just describing your mouth and how warm and wet it’d be, teeth dragging over his nipples and stomach. He likes that. He also like when I touch him here,” Louis says, maybe giving away too much about himself with how rough his voice is getting – every time he speaks, the gruffness crawling in gets more greedy and raw. He strokes Niall’s lower tummy. “But I couldn’t believe how much it riled him up when I talked about your hands. I’d created a monster.”

Niall groans, then makes a face like he hadn’t meant to. Zayn wants to point out that they’re too far gone to get embarrassed about it, when Niall’s dick is fat and outlined sideways in his trousers, fingernails digging into the sofa with how difficult it is not to get a hand on himself.

“Sit.”

This time, Zayn doesn’t question Louis – not even internally. He sits at Niall’s side, Niall in the middle, wondering if he’s allowed to touch, hoping to God that he will be.

“You should see how he gets when I’m talking about your fingers, Zayn,” Louis smirks. “Aw, look at him now! Just a mention and he’s even redder. Horny little fucker. Couldn’t keep his hands off his cock the moment I started whispering about how they’d feel _inside_ him.”

Zayn finds his voice, trampled and shocked and broken, and all he manages is, “ _Louis_.”

“I’m serious,” Louis says softly. “Aren’t you hard, Zayn?”

Zayn doesn’t need to look to know he is, but Niall’s eyes fall to his crotch so quickly. Zayn stares at Louis, and Louis stares back.

“See, Niall? That’s for you, love,” Louis whispers, not looking away. “Feel it.” He slips his fingers over Niall’s, stretches his arm across him to Zayn’s chest. He draws Niall’s clammy, hot hand down too slowly, and Zayn doesn’t want to tell them that it feel like they’re undoing a zip on him, and his hips stutter up in a useless buck when Louis presses Niall onto his cock. “God, he is, isn’t he?”

“Zayn.” Niall chokes on it, warm breath coming out in puffs from between his lips and onto Zayn’s. He’s close. He’s so _close_. Zayn could kiss him and he knows that Niall wants him to, that neither of them are going to let the other escape now that they’re connected like this. “He’s right, Zayn.” His palm starts rocking into Zayn’s dick, knocking out a short, hitched sigh.

“Zayn wants to fuck you, Niall,” Louis groans, then sucks on Niall’s earlobe. “He wants you to have his mouth, fingers, and cock for _real_. How do you feel about that?”

“I want to,” Niall says, starting to smile.

“Yeah?” Zayn whispers.

Niall bites his lip and nods, glowing around his nose, forehead, and chin. Zayn owes Louis ten thousand roses and a gift basket.

“Sick,” Zayn grins on his exhale. “Come on, then. Show me how _much_ you want it.”

“Cocky bastard,” Niall snickers, his mouth going pliant as he presses gently against Zayn’s bottom lip, careful and tentative. The pressure is a grounding grip on Zayn’s heart – this is their first kiss. It’s tender, soft even when it turns wet as their kiss becomes more open, tongue peeking slowly between their mouths. Everything takes a jump for rougher when Zayn’s hand goes tight on Niall’s crotch, fingers curling around Niall’s cock through his jeans. Niall groans immediately, kiss going messy with his eagerness.

Holding Zayn’s shoulders for balance, Niall swings one thigh over Zayn’s lap, darting back to Zayn’s lips the instant he can. If Louis wants in on this, he’s going to have a hard time prying them apart.

“Jesus, boys,” he says, not having moved from his part of the sofa. “That’s really nice.”

Zayn feels Niall’s lips slip away, opens his eyes to see Niall beaming proudly at Louis. His blush stretches down his neck, blotching into his chest and shoulders like blossoms dripping down his body, into the white American flag tank and denim shorts, and Zayn senses an invitation teasing the tip of Niall’s tongue. Zayn stares up at Niall’s eyes nose lips chin jaw, settling for a little kiss along the hard edge of it.

“You gonna call Eleanor?” Niall smirks. It’s the kindest way Zayn’s ever heard Niall tell someone to fuck off.

“Yeah, definitely. She’ll want to hear how this all turned out,” Louis says, reaching into his pocket.

Deciding that Louis’ claimed more than enough of Niall’s attention over the past couple of months, Zayn pinches a little bite at the muscle of Niall’s neck, needy. Niall laughs, and Zayn can see it on his face – the amusement tinted with _knowing_. Knowing what Zayn wants, because Zayn’s being more honest right now than he has been in a while.

The charge has left his fingertips but it’s still warm under his skin. Niall’s hard when Louis snaps a photo, and Louis licks his lips as he stands.

“Have fun, be safe, last long, all the best,” he calls, phone already pressed to his ear when he closes the door.

“Might not be able to do one of those,” Niall groans.

“Hey, we’ll have, like, _so_ much fun,” Zayn teases.

“You know what I mean,” Niall says sheepishly. “Louis said some things that wound me right up.”

“Remind me to thank him,” Zayn murmurs into Niall’s collarbone, stooping lower to kiss the soft skin of his chest.

“Kinda want you to blow me,” Niall admits.

Zayn grins and kisses Niall and sucks on Niall’s bottom lip, hand slipping from his crotch, over his thigh. “Kinda want to fuck you,” he replies, feeling out Niall’s arse.

“We’ve got our work cut out for us,” Niall says, shaking his head.

“How d’you feel about a bed? Like, might be comfier. Definitely more room.” He touches the curve of Niall’s dick again, presses it tight against his hip while they kiss, softer and slower than their earlier frenzy.

“Yeah, bed’s good,” Niall agrees.

By the time Niall gets through the door, he’s wearing an impish grin, and Zayn’s flannel shirt is lying in the hallway, along with their shoes. He grabs Niall away from the bed’s edge with an arm hooked at the small of his back, rubbing Niall’s dick with his other hand. Niall’s been hard this whole time, unlike Zayn, who’s gone soft from the wait. Niall giggles into his mouth, lifting his own top so Zayn can undo the fly, fingers brushing against Niall’s very warm tummy as he works the zip down in two quick tugs.

Niall’s shorts fall to his ankles, and Zayn’s so eager for his clover-print briefs to join them that Niall’s dick hits his stomach, and Niall pulls in a gasp. He falls to the bed with his clothes still a puddle at his feet. The light tips of his hair are curling over the rim of his cap and they’re so white when Zayn studies the fresh blush colouring his face again, pretty close to the rosiness of his cock. Zayn stays there for a second, still smiling, getting to his knees between Niall’s when he thinks he has the image committed to memory forever.

He’s never done this before.

The hand-on-dick stuff is easy – different angles different size different shape from his own, but he learns quickly that the ticket with Niall is speed near the tip and harsh squeezes every now and again. Niall’s a very animated receiver, with his gasps/moans/eyebrows/lips/fingers, and soon he even bucks up the courage to plant a hand gently at the back of Zayn’s head. Peering up at Niall like a _yeah, okay_ , Zayn sees how heavy-lidded Niall’s eyes are, and the distraction of his open mouth.

“Zayn, y’gotta stop staring at me like that, or I’m gonna jizz on them cheekbones of yours,” Niall warns.

“Might let you, if you’re good,” Zayn murmurs, licking his lips wet.

Niall looks like he’s going to retort, but something in him breaks. He pushes a little on Zayn’s head till Zayn can literally smell his dick—like fresh sweat and _boy_ and _man_ —and tilts his shaft down. Zayn’s lips crack apart as Niall rubs the tip against them, concentration making his brow stern, arousal making his eyes soft. Zayn’s tongue dabs quickly at the slit, to which Niall grins a little, and says, “C’mon, then.”

As it turns out, blow jobs are an entirely different game from eating out. The sucking makes loud slurpy noises, the back of his tongue can’t handle the length, and he’s going too slowly for it to be good. Speed makes the noises worse, and Zayn’s ready to put giving lads head in the Only If I Have To pile when Niall coughs out a short moan, fingers tensing in Zayn’s hair.

When Zayn listens some more, he catches soft swearing, and panting, and the low _ngh_ sound Niall lets out when his cock goes slightly deeper. Letting his tongue relax, Zayn stops the sucking, pulling off with a fierce heat on his face.

There’s spit on Niall’s top.

Zayn takes a good few tugs at Niall’s dick, wet tight fast pulls enough to make Niall’s thighs twitch in jerky shivers. Niall’s mouth opens some more to push out air faster than he’s taking it in, brows knotted in, skin stained a red that seems like it could become permanent, hair sweaty muscles tensing breaths shallow.

Zayn sits on his knees, getting hard again from sucking dick. His other hand fastens on Niall’s hip so his palm can feel the energetic warmth radiating off his skin, and his thumb strokes the bone hiding under a layer of muscle and pudge. Niall clamps his own palm over it, _holding Zayn’s hand_ under his ruddy fingers.

“Oh, stop, stop,” Niall groans through his teeth, braces glinting. He’s chewing his bottom lip when Zayn’s jaw drops lower and he slides off, throat feeling worked open and empty immediately. At first, he doesn’t understand why, what he’s done wrong, but Niall just grins. “That was fucking amazing. Y’got lube anywhere? I’ll nut on your face some other time.”

“So romantic,” Zayn smirks. He laps slowly at the head one more time before he stands, wondering _which bag which bag which fucking bag_ his lube and condoms could be in.

“Always,” Niall boasts, toeing off his shorts and briefs, and placing his snapback back on his head once his top’s on the floor. Zayn watches him stretch out beneath the duvet, on the big bed like a king on his throne, naked with his cock in his fist. He’s gazing lovingly at Zayn with big eyes and a small, shy grin.

Fucking beautiful.

The stuff is in the first bag he checks, sitting atop a _Misfits_ tee shirt. “Strip f’me,” Niall orders playfully, ghosting his pointed finger down Zayn’s thigh.

Zayn directs his lopsided smile to the floor because he doesn’t know how to look at Niall without tearing off all his clothes. He smoothes his hands down his shirt and up, behind his neck to clutch the fabric and pull it over his head. As the fabric brushes over his face, Zayn hears Niall moving, sees Niall crawling forward, feels his fingers hooking into Zayn’s jeans and pulling him closer.

Niall splits Zayn’s fly and pushes his hand in, squeezing curiously along the length of his cock. The tip of Zayn’s tongue is pinched between his teeth, stopping the questions from tumbling out. He wants to know where Louis’ fingerprints are, if Niall ever touched Louis with the same eagerness.

“Did you ever get this hot with Louis?” he asks, not able to help himself.

“No,” Niall admits against Zayn’s skin. He mouths right down the elastic strap of Zayn’s boxers, white cutting across his hips. “He’s got a gob on him, but we never did much. He let me grind on him, so long as I didn’t come until I was off, ’cause that was the rule.” He stops to watch Zayn remove what’s left, gaping slightly until Zayn kisses the look off his face, edging Niall back up the mattress with his mouth and his body.

They had _rules_. They _talked_ about it, Zayn thinks jealously. He bats Niall’s hat away.

“What’d he tell you? Did he tell you how badly I wanted to have your legs around my waist, like, marking up my back when I bite marks into your skin?” Zayn surprises himself with the last part, and Niall nods, smile tinted with embarrassment.

“That, and that you’d be careful, but,” he says, one inch away from Zayn’s lips (one inch too many), “not gentle.”

Zayn swallows.

“You don’t have to be gentle with me,” Niall offers.

“You liked it when I bit you, yeah?” Zayn noses and kisses his way down Niall’s throat, big and open-mouthed and slow, till he reaches the muscled juncture between his neck and shoulder.

“ _Oh_ ,” Niall groans. “That’s fuckin’ good, yeah.”

At the hand that curls around his shaft, Zayn licks his lips. “Shit. This could get interesting.”

“More interestin’ than normal sex with me would be? Ouch, Zayn,” Niall laughs, head tipping back.

“Aw, c’mon,” Zayn smirks, connecting each messy kiss dotted up to Niall’s mouth with his tongue. Niall’s thumb opens up his hand to make room for his own cock, and Zayn begins to think that he won’t make it inside before he comes. “Would you tell me what you like? Tell me what you want?”

“Use your fingers, please,” Niall whispers, words soft desperate shaky.

There’s no gaping hole between the request and the action – Zayn gets them wet, leaving the bottle next to his thigh to use later, leaning right back so he can watch his finger slip over Niall’s soft rim. The muscle pulls in at the first touch like a flinch, and eases quickly into the firm circles rubbed into him.

“Louis said you’d be jealous.” Niall’s sentence clips off with a small gasp when Zayn’s finger pops inside. “Were you?”

“All the fucking time,” Zayn says, tone leaving no room for doubt. Niall’s arse is basically sucking him in, the muscles trying to close around the intrusion.

“How many times did you see us?”

“Too many,” Zayn answers. “I saw you first in the bus, and he was behind you in the kitchen, and you _moaned_ , like, ’cause he was kissing your neck and that.” He straightens his finger then tries to curl it, only able to push weakly at the tight wall with no give.

“You saw that?” Niall grins, fresh shade of pink over his skin like a veil.

“Heard you pulling one out after,” Zayn adds bitterly.

“Thinking of—” Niall’s eyes clamp shut the instant Zayn bends his finger again, this time finding a smooth bump, sound jerking from his throat. That charge of fire begins to burn again in Zayn’s blood. He taps it in quick twitches, catching Niall offguard when he tries to speak again.

“Thinking of what, Niall? Thinking of Louis, Louis’ cock, how he felt as he pressed up against you and got off on your arse?” Zayn hisses.

“No! He was always talking about you. Nothing I ever did alone felt nearly as good as thinking about it, and you know what Louis’ like, Zayn,” Niall insists, his nails drawing stripes into Zayn’s back to pull him closer. “He talked about your mouth like it was the fuckin’ Holy Grail.” His gaze tumbles from Zayn’s eyes to his lips. He kisses with more teeth this time, kisses like he’s never going to let go. Zayn starts moving once he gets a hand in his hair and another on his dick, tugging moans from between their mouths as he works Niall open.

Zayn lubes up another finger and tries to ignore his cock throbbing hard and stiff, desperate.

“I’m, _yeah_ , I’m gettin’ close,” Niall warns.

_Careful but not gentle._

_You don’t have to be gentle with me._

“You’re not gonna come like this.” Zayn enters a third finger, and it’s tight tight tight but he goes so slowly, swatting Niall’s hand off his cock while he goes in deeper, and Niall’s grip digs into Zayn’s shoulders. “Suck.”

Confusion weighs Niall’s brows down, till he opens his eyes and sees the fingers in front of his mouth. Unable to put his balance on either hand, Zayn’s abs tighten with the pressure, and it’s so fucking worth it to see Niall hold Zayn’s wrist in place and feed himself, sucking greedily and sloppily.

Zayn’s next touch is a harsh jab that makes Niall whine around his mouthful. Another has him moaning and bucking and gripping Zayn’s arm like a steel clasp.

Patience loses to anticipation, and the growl in Zayn’s voice is low but firm. “Bet you look better on my dick than you do on Louis’ thigh.”

Niall pulls Zayn’s fingers out of his mouth, licking up the side as his eyes fix on Zayn. “Wanna test that?” he asks, grinning wickedly, sexy little quirk to his brow like a dare.

“Yeah. Right now.” Zayn tosses Niall the condom. “Open it.”

“Can I put it on? Not on myself,” Niall says. “Wouldn’t be much use there.”

“Thanks for clearing that up,” Zayn mutters, concentration off because Niall’s rolling a condom over his cock.

“You’re good to go,” Niall announces. He opens his legs even wider, heels of his feet pressing encouragingly into Zayn’s arse as he lubes up.

For the first time since _Yeah, you_ , Zayn feels a faint flick of worry, centred around the expectations set up for him. How many words did Louis slip into Niall’s ear against walls, on the bus, after shows? How many times did he promise the most unbelievable amazing brilliant mind-blowing sex? How many stars? How many fireworks?

He forgets that concern when he sees Niall’s face at the first touch, how the crack between his lips opens for a gasp, his big blue eyes only visible under his low lids.

“Alright?” Zayn thinks for one horrible second that Niall’s _too_ tight, and his dick’s just going to slip out. And then it doesn’t. Zayn brings his hand up to tenderly cup Niall’s warm face.

“Y’gotta ease it in,” Niall tells him. He licks his lips and drops his head back with a sigh. “But keep going, please.”

The warmth spreads up Zayn’s body like wildfire, the thought of _inside Niall fucking Niall looking Niall in the eye as he enters him centimetre by centimetre_ amazing in itself, and combined with the _physical feeling_ , he’s near overwhelmed. His jaw clenches and holds there, cock in halfway but Niall wincing.

“Relax, we’re going easy, like,” Zayn whispers. “Not gonna rush you.”

“I want you to fuck me,” Niall admits.

“We’ll get to that,” Zayn assures him. He wants to hear what Niall sounds like when he’s broken, is what he doesn’t add. He wants to watch an orgasm roll through Niall’s pale body like fire.

Sinking slowly in the rest of the way, Zayn focuses on the heat between their stomachs, every inch of each other that they’re touching. He’s on his elbows, now, even the tiny slivers of space separating them filled with warmth.

“Alright, that’s it, love,” Zayn says.

“Sick,” Niall grins, and raises a hand. It takes a second, but Zayn smirks and rocks his weight to one side to slap him a high-five. Niall slides his fingers up and pushes the sweat-floppy hair off Zayn’s face, smile softening. “I know I say it all the time, but you’re so pretty.”

“Aw.” Zayn draws out a bit, pushes his hips forward. Even with the stretch from his fingers, Niall’s arse is still a wet suction on his cock, so he can’t help but want to go harder, deeper, rougher while Niall closes his eyes, teeth digging into his bottom lip.

“Need t’grind, kind of, just to start,” Niall murmurs.

Zayn changes his movements immediately, from the in out motion to gentle rolls and circles. “You look good like this. Louis was definitely right about how red you get,” he says.

Another smile lights up Niall’s eyes cheeks lips, and Zayn kisses him again. Hotel sheets already damp on his back, tented by Niall’s knees and toes, Zayn keeps rutting in, staying shallow, listening to Niall gasp grunt groan and finally whisper, “ _More_ , Zayn.”

He has to start slowly so slowly too slowly, again and again till he finds himself mouthing at Niall’s throat with one hand dragging his nails down Niall’s chest. They catch on his right nipple, over the scruffy skin of his chest and stomach. Zayn is so turned on he’s dazed with it, captivated with Niall’s skin, Niall’s muscles, Niall’s hand returning the favour with a light tweak at Zayn’s nipple.

“Can I get on top?” Niall asks, voice sweet and warm like the feeling low in Zayn’s tummy, that ball of pleasure that promises that he’s going to come.

The answer is thick in his throat. “Yeah,” Zayn manages, lifting off.

Somewhere between Niall sitting up and Zayn lying down, Zayn licks one kiss onto Niall’s shoulder, and another on his sternum, and it ends with him going down on Niall again. He doesn’t suck. He bobs quickly, sandwiches Niall’s cock between the roof of his mouth and his tongue, makes Niall whine and spit precome. As Zayn back off to admire his work he sinks his teeth into Niall’s tensed thigh, the muscle rather than the sensitive inner skin, so that it burns rather than stings. Niall gasps again, his dick falling slippery and hard onto his stomach.

Zayn grins, feeling wicked. He leans his back on the headboard, letting Niall crawl into his lap.

This time, his cock really does slip out – Niall too quick too eager when he tries to lower himself, ends up moving the wrong way, not used to it yet. Zayn snorts and Niall settles down smoothly, full up again with a happy sigh and hips tilted forwards and cheeks all pink, colour smeared to his jaw.

“You’re blushing,” Zayn points out. “Even here,” he adds, cupping his hands around the sides of Niall’s ribs, fingers splayed so his thumbs can reach Niall’s nipples.

“Happens when I’m turned on,” Niall admits. He bites his bottom lip, trapping his smile coyly.

Zayn knows that a similar shade must be blending into his skin, though darker, and he’s clammy all over. It gets worse when Niall starts to bounce, finding the angle and abusing it for all he’s worth, jolting hard or grinding, mixing it up and putting his hands on the headboard for balance. He’s turning himself into a mess, and Zayn’s more than happy to help, with a rough hand on Niall’s arse and a gentle touch on his nipple.

Niall is getting shaky when Zayn lifts his palm and brings it quickly against Niall’s bum, holding on where he hopes he’s left a mark. Niall jumps and his mouth opens, body going slack, shoulders sinking.

“Like that?” Zayn asks. “Is that what you mean, not being gentle?”

“Mm,” Niall whimpers, pushing his head into Zayn’s neck, hand moving quickly on his dick. Zayn’s been trying to ignore his own needs but they’re resurfacing now, louder than ever. “Do it again.”

Zayn does, liking the sharpness on his palm, the tight _slaps_ compared to soft wet sounds of Niall wanking and Zayn thrusting. He keeps going as he pets Niall’s chest and neck and shoulder, cock all the more sensitive every time he jerks his hips in out in out—

“Fuckin’,” Niall starts to say, the rest of a potentially impressive string of swears lost as he loses his load in big gloopy pulses down Zayn’s stomach. “Jesus.”

He came with a rough voice and half-grin, and neither seem to be fading as he whispers some encouraging-sounding things (his accent’s too thick and still rolling out in puffs of air, so Zayn doesn’t catch a lot of it) to Zayn, who’s nosing into Niall’s neck.

“Next time, I wan’ you t’fuckin’ lick m’arse, ’nd bite me, shag me’n all fours,” Niall’s saying as Zayn grabs at his thighs, forcing Niall down and his own hips up so he can get as deep as he can, balls pressed hard against the curve of Niall’s bum. It’s ten seconds of gasping and stars and a lovely warm flush pumping through his body before he relaxes. Niall. Him and Niall. Not _LouisandNiall_. ZaynandNiall.

“Niall,” he whimpers.

“Yeah, good, wasn’it?” Niall makes a halfhearted attempt at moving up, but rolls to the side instead. He keeps his thighs wide apart, rubbing his eyes and yawning.

“I’ll get a face towel, for, like, the marks,” Zayn mumbles, tying off the sad-looking, limp condom. He kisses Niall’s hot cheek, manages to trace a path to the bathroom with the grey light from the windows outlining the furniture and doors.

He comes back with the two smallest from the stack of pristine, white towels in the bathroom, one drizzled under the tap with water on the colder side of lukewarm. Niall is face-down, leaving his arse on display along with its marks. A handprint on a handprint on a handprint, one big splatter of sore-looking redness. Half is smooth, from Zayn’s palm, and the other is spread out like rays of a sunrise, straining to reach higher.

Niall winces at the cool wetness, but melts with a happy hum. “That’s nice,” he sighs.

Licking his lips, Zayn peels the towel off, and nudges Niall’s legs apart. He scrunches up the towel and tucks it along Niall’s crack to his balls to clean the lube off.

“ _Zayn_ ,” Niall grumbles. “’S cold.”

“Supposed to be,” Zayn snickers, spanking Niall lightly on the other cheek.

“Oi, that was only fun when you had your dick in me,” Niall says.

“Really?” Zayn smacks his bum again, just a little harder. “I think it’s cute now. Your bum jiggles, like.”

“Come’n cuddle w’me, Zaynie. You can spank me some other time,” Niall grins, hand flailing for Zayn’s.

“Hold on, just gonna dry you off,” Zayn explains.

When the towels are in a damp heap on the bedside table, Zayn presses his lips to the small of Niall’s back, up his spine, along his shoulder, jumping from his bicep to his wrist and kissing Niall’s stubby fingertips.

They’re both sticky and the sheets aren’t crisp and dry anymore, but Niall is smiling sleepily at Zayn, glowing pink and lovely. It feels like the only thing that should matter.

“If you were wonderin’, you were way better than Louis said you’d be,” Niall tells him.

“Oh,” Zayn whispers in sarcastic surprise, eyebrows raised for effect, “good to know you’re thinking of him. Reassuring.”

“Hey, on a realistic level, would we’ve gotten to this wi’out him? I probably wouldn’t have the guts t’even try,” Niall says.

“Yeah, well,” Zayn shrugs, not wanting to admit that all his anger and frustration over the past couple of months has been misplaced. “Louis’ either dumb enough or smart enough, but definitely _crazy_ enough to think that even his bad ideas are good ones.”

“I think this is one of his best,” Niall says, grin soft. He leans in for another kiss, shifting on top again. They kiss tenderly, too gentle for it to go any further, all slow tongues and easy hands.

Niall rubs his forehead against Zayn’s collarbone, yawning into his chest.

“We have the day off tomorrow,” Niall mumbles. “’S why Louis planned this for now.”

“Yeah,” Zayn says.

“We can continue this then, is what I’m saying. I’m exhausted.” Niall snuggles down.

“Cool, then you can wake me up with a blow job,” Zayn replies casually.

“Mm, alright,” Niall agrees.

“Sick,” Zayn breathes, stroking Niall’s shaggy hair, rubbing his scalp.

“Love you, Zayn,” Niall mumbles. “’Course I’ll suck your dick.”

“Thanks,” Zayn whispers, tucking the duvet around Niall properly. “Love you too, like, if we’re doing that.”

“We’re doing that,” Niall says firmly, his arm tightening on Zayn’s waist.

Niall passes out not long after, but guilt fizzes in Zayn’s head, keeping him awake as he backtracks. His phone is in his trousers. Zayn glances at the floor and wonders how long his arm is, because they’re on the edge of the bed and if he stretches _just_ enough, he can get his iPhone.

_A little—_

_Yeah—_

There.

> To: Louis
> 
> _Hey man. Thanks for this :) x Sorry I said I’d hit you._

The message tone pings.

> From: Louis
> 
> _All in a day’s work! Remember me when you’re balls deep in Niall!_

Zayn grins, types back, _Can’t say I will, but thank you all the same. I owe you! x_

And he really does. When Zayn looks down at Niall, sleeping and cosy with his messy hair and rosy lips, he realizes that his heart has been stripped bare. No more lies. No more hiding.

“Love you,” are the last words he mumbles into Niall’s hair before he falls asleep.

**Author's Note:**

> Tumblr is [camonialle](http://camonialle.tumblr.com/)!


End file.
